


A new beginning

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [21]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post Season 7, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-11 01:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime is riding North, and on the way he meets Brienne. Confused about his feelings for her initially, he is unable to tell her how he feels, gradually coming to terms with his love for her.





	1. Introspection

**Author's Note:**

> Here we look at three phases of Jaime's feelings for her- each one a chapter  
> Introspection  
> Acceptance  
> Confession

Jaime had been on the move for days now - how many, exactly, he wasn’t sure, for after a point, he’d stopped keeping count. Nights of camping in the open had made him yearn for a comfortable bed and some proper food rather than the odd boar he hunted, or some wild berries and fruits he could gather. _Not for long,_ he thought. As per his mental calculation, he’d be at the Inn at the Crossroads by nightfall, which meant a square meal for supper and a good night’s sleep on a proper bed for a change, a welcome relief for his back.

Cersei’s betrayal had hit him hard, that it was more of an emotional setback hurting him even deeper. All his life, he had doted on her, cared for her more than anyone else in this whole damn world, murdered people to get back to her and crippled an innocent child to keep her safe. She had been his life, his reason for existence, the love of his life.

_Until now, until..._

His thoughts strayed, wandering in a different direction, taking a turn towards a distraction, a temptation that he’d been desperately trying to avoid all these years.

Her voice still rang loud and clear in his head. _This goes beyond honour and houses…_

For decades, he had been under the constant belief that Cersei was his world. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that she would go back on her word, threatening to kill him if he betrayed her. Still unable to forget the Mountain glaring at him, ready to wring his neck at her command, that fateful conversation had been an eye opener for him, a blow to his gut, making him finally aware of her true intentions.

When the initial moment of shock and disbelief had passed, he wasted no time in announcing his decision. He intended to keep his promise, to take the advice of the only person who truly believed in him. On her word, he _fucked loyalty_ and rode away from the woman he thought held him higher than the crown. He had given up his family to keep his word, and not just that, he wanted to show someone that there was still honour in him.

He couldn’t let her down.

Years had passed, but never once had he realized that his sister had slowly made her exit out of his heart, clearing the path for another to come along. Enter his life she did, in the guise of an enemy, sweeping him off his feet, both literally and metaphorically. Smiling to himself, he recalled their duel when she had knocked him to the ground, his last meaningful fight before he had lost his hand, his only contest with someone equal to, or perhaps even better than him in skill and strength.

Brienne of Tarth had stormed into his life like a tempest, dragging him along all through their memorable journey, and for days he had no inkling that he was slowly, but surely being drawn to her with every passing moment. Ever since he'd left Cersei, his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of the wench, of how powerful her words were when it came to influencing his decisions time and again, and how much her opinion had always mattered to him.

“Thinking about _her_ , Lannister?”

Shaken out of his stupor, Jaime realized only now that he had been so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he'd completely forgotten about Bronn.

“Yes,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. He didn’t have to ask who he meant, and denial wasn’t going to help him any longer.

“What’s the problem then?” Bronn inquired, slowing down so that he could match pace with Jaime. “You’re going to meet her soon. Tell her how you feel as soon as you get to Winterfell.”

“After the way I treated her in King’s Landing, I’d be surprised if she even talks to me again,” Jaime said, glum at the prospect of having to explain his behaviour. “I’m not sure I can even look her in the eye anymore.”

“You can cross that bridge when it comes,” Bronn advised him. “I’m sure your lady will understand the moment she hears your side.”

Hoping his friend was right, Jaime continued riding in silence. And on they went until dusk, tired and aching, their bodies on the verge giving up as they looked forward to making it to their destination soon.

“Finally!” Bronn exclaimed in relief, eyeing the familiar inn in front of them.

When they settled their horses and made their way in, Jaime’s heart skipped a beat at the sight that met his eyes.

Seated at the bar, was the wench with Sandor Clegane and Podrick Payne.

“Ah, there she is,” Bronn said happily, hurrying in their direction. Before Jaime could stop him, he strode towards the group, beaming, leaving Jaime with no choice but to follow him. “Podrick fookin’ Payne!” he exclaimed, giving the boy a friendly slap on the back. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Bronn pulled up a nearby stool and sat down next to Pod and Clegane, and began chatting with them, but Jaime was barely listening to them. He had eyes only for the wench, and worse than his inability to deal with his feelings was his incapability of stringing two words to say to her.

“Lady Brienne,” he finally managed. Equally surprised to find him here, she got up as soon as he spoke to her. 

Flustered at the idea of facing her without warning, all Jaime could do was greet her with a polite bow. Her unexpected presence had left him unnerved, and not knowing what else to say, he stopped at that. A polite hello was safe until he knew what was on her mind. Was she glad to see him? Was she indifferent, or unaffected by his presence? Did she resent him so much after his dismissal of her that she’d even refuse to speak to him?

“Ser Jaime,” she greeted him back, her voice even and her usually expressive eyes devoid of any intense emotion. _Indifference, probably_ , he concluded with a pang.

“How have you been?” he asked, for the sake of sustaining the conversation.

“We only met a few days back,” she pointed out, her face still unreadable. “I’m fine. Your journey’s been hassle free?”

“It was largely uneventful,” he replied. He hesitated, contemplating what to tell her next. Overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotions on finding her in front of him, he wanted to express everything that had been bottled up inside him. “My lady, I--” he began, but stopped abruptly. He had a million things to say to her, but the barrage of words at the tip of his tongue had flown off his mind the moment he looked into those lovely blue eyes.

“Yes, Ser Jaime?” She waited.

“Brienne, I--”

“Sorry for the disturbance, my lord,” Bronn interrupted them, breaking his flow of thoughts. “The inn’s full, and unfortunately there aren’t any spare rooms to accommodate us,” he informed Jaime.

“We have two rooms,” came a familiar grunt. Sandor Clegane had just walked in on them. “You, me and Pod can adjust in one,” he told Bronn, leaving the second half of his suggestion implied, which obviously meant Jaime would be forced to share with Brienne.

“I doubt if Lady Brienne would be comfortable with me,” Jaime knocked down the suggestion, not wishing to put her in an awkward situation. “Bronn and I can find another inn to spend the night in--”

“Why would she have a problem?” the Hound looked suspiciously at the two of them, presumably wondering what was going on between them. “I’m sure she’s been forced to share tents with men in the Kingsguard before.”

“Where will you go this late?” the wench asked, thankfully saving Jaime the difficult task of answering the tricky question. “There’s no other inn in the vicinity, not for miles, at least.”

“We can set up camp somewhere,” he said promptly, unwilling to be a burden on them. “I don’t want to impose my presence on you.”

“You’re not imposing.” Brienne’s tone was softly firm. She said nothing for a while. Then, blinking vigorously, her eyes fixed on the ground, she announced her decision. “Ser Jaime can stay with me.”

“That’s settled then,” Bronn said, throwing Jaime a sideways glance that warned him against refusing her offer.

When everyone had agreed and Brienne and the Hound led them upstairs, Bronn pulled Jaime aside. “Are you fookin' mad?” he scolded, fixing him with a frustrated glare. “You get to spend the night with the woman you fancy, and you try to be a gentleman and shoot down the chance?”

“I’m not entirely sure of how I feel about her,” Jaime reflected, mulling over his companion’s choice of words. No doubt, he did fancy Brienne, but there was definitely more to his feelings than that, a _lot_ more, in fact.

“Alright then, the woman you _love_ , not fancy,” Bronn corrected himself immediately. “I should’ve made myself clear.”

Jaime fell silent. _The woman I love,_ he kept saying inside his head, and the more he repeated it, the more he began thinking that Bronn was perhaps right. He had been harbouring strong feelings for her for quite a while, but there still lingered a tiny bit of confusion in his mind. Given that he had just walked out of Cersei’s life, he didn’t want to hurry things until he was absolutely certain that he could do justice to what he really wanted - a wife, children, a family, a chance to grow old with the wench. It sounded rosy and romantic, but his recent heartbreak involving his sister warned him to go slow, to tread on the path of love with care. He no longer loved Cersei the way he did earlier, but he didn’t want to commit to the wench unless knew that his heart was worthy of her love.

His feelings apart, he was yet to find out what Brienne thought about him. She respected him, he knew that, and cared for him as well, but was she in love with him? Did she want the same from life as he did? Even if she did, would she allow herself to be happy? He had his own doubts, for the woman was downright stubborn, incorrigibly unselfish and fiercely committed to her loyalty towards the Starks.

Hurting Brienne was the last thing he wanted to do, and to avoid that, he needed time... time with her. All his life he had been impulsive, but this time he’d take this journey as an opportunity to get closer to her, to get to know what was in her heart. _I might even try to woo her,_ he thought, suppressing a smile when he pictured her reaction at being treated like a lady.

And the day he managed to sort things out in his head, he’d perhaps tell her. He thought long and hard, his head and his heart persistently telling him that she was the one.

 _Yes,_ he assured himself, _I’ll tell her. Soon._

 


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A push here and a nudge there... enough to make Jaime realize where his heart lies.

Jaime’s stomach rumbled in hunger, leaving him painfully aware that he hadn’t eaten anything for hours. “Have you had anything to eat, wench?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t. What could be a better opportunity to have a heart-to-heart conversation than a meal together?

“Not yet, I was downstairs with the men and--”

“Come with me,” he insisted before his courage could wan. All along, he’d been used to showering her with insults, but when it came to asking her for something as simple as her company, he found himself tongue tied and anxious that she might turn him down.

“I--” she seemed to be in two minds. “What about the others?” Was that a polite and indirect way to turn him down?

“I’m sure they’ll join us,” Jaime replied, his heart sinking at being deprived of her exclusive company. However, he soon consoled himself, knowing that things could’ve been worse. If dining with the group was the only way to get her to spend some time with him, then so be it.

When they went downstairs, the others had almost finished eating. Clegane was at his surliest best, Podrick his usual timid self, and Bronn, as always, had his eyes open for anything that was even remotely female. The moment they joined the group, three pairs of curious eyes were on them.

“What?” Jaime demanded of Bronn, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass him in front of Brienne.

Sandor Clegane cleared his throat. “I was wondering,” he began, his tone as gruff as ever, his eternally unsmiling face scrutinizing Brienne. “Do you two know each other?”

“Aye,” Bronn replied before the wench could open her mouth. “These two know each other far better than any of us know anyone else,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

Jaime’s first instinct was to yell at him to shut up, but taking one look at Brienne’s expression, he decided that tolerating the blunt-mouthed sellsword was worth it. With her faintly pink cheeks, her eyes lowered in shyness and the way she bit her lip, she looked marvellously alluring. If Bronn’s nonsense could lead him somewhere, then why not?

“She hated me when we first met.” He encouraged the conversation, giving Brienne a warm smile.

“So did you,” came her prompt reply. “All you did was insult me,” she accused him, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry, I was an idiot then,” he truthfully admitted, ashamed of his past behaviour. “Besides, it was only until we--” he was about to say _bathed together_ , but checked himself on time, remembering that they weren’t alone. “You do know I respect you, wench, and--” he almost ended up speaking too much again “--you--I mean, your opinion means a lot to me.”

_And so do you..._

“ _Wench?_ ” Clegane raised his brows in surprise.

“Something I used to call her then,” Jaime quickly covered up his lapse. “It’s stuck on as a habit.”

“It does have a nice ring to it,” the Hound said, amused. “The Kingslayer and his wench--”

“Don’t call him that,” Brienne instantly jumped to his defence. There came a softness in her eyes, something he’d seen only once before-when he’d bid her goodbye at King’s Landing, when she’d promised him that she would find Sansa _for him._

“And now?” The Hound peered at her curiously. When all he got from the wench was a blank look in response, he repeated his question. “If you hated him then, how do you feel about him now?”

Jaime eyed her with bated breath for her reaction, but what came was a diplomatic and proper answer. “I respect him.”

“And?” Bronn decided to make his presence felt this time.

“I--” she fumbled for words. “His opinion means a lot to me,” she finished, leaving Jaime slightly disappointed.

“Ah,” was all Clegane said. “I just happened to notice your sword, my lady.” He eyed her belt, staring at Oathkeeper with a curious frown. “Is that a lion on its pommel?” he inquired innocently. Much to his irritation, Jaime could hear Bronn sniggering by his side.

“Yes,” Brienne suddenly seemed to be more interested in finishing her meal.

“Shouldn’t your sword bear your sigil? A Lion is--”

“This is a gift,” she explained, red-faced, carefully avoiding Jaime’s eyes.

“From Lord Tyrion?” Clegane had resolved to torment her today.

“No,” her voice had faded to a whisper, so low that Jaime could barely hear her from across the table. “Ser Jaime gave me this sword. It belonged to him, hence the lion--”

“Ah!” The Hound’s teasing voice took him by surprise, for Jaime wasn’t aware that the man was capable of anything other than grunting and cursing. “What do you think then?” he asked her. “About the sword, not its previous owner,” he clarified when she looked appalled.

“I’m sure she’d have a lot to say about the owner too,” Bronn chimed in, glancing slyly at Jaime. “But we can talk about the sword for now.”

“It’s a valyrian steel blade, and I’m quite honoured to wield a weapon as priceless as this.” Her voice exuded pride, and if Jaime could read her correctly, something akin to awe and devotion.

The Hound, however, didn’t seemed to be convinced. “Is that it?”

“Oh, she adores it,” Pod spoke all of a sudden, beaming like he usually did. “Every night she polishes it with care, almost as if she’s in love with it--”

“Thank you, Podrick,” Brienne shut him up with a death stare, causing the lad to immediately quieten down.

Jaime leaned back in his chair, hoping that his heart would slow down.

The onslaught on Brienne continued, and Jaime found himself enjoying her discomfort, because that meant she did feel _something_ for him. “Just the sword?” Clegane pressed further.

She blushed deeper, but said nothing.

“He also happened to gift her the pretty mare she rides,” Bronn informed the group. “And her armour.”

The Hound now turned his attention to Jaime. “And you thought she was ugly, Lannister?” he asked in disbelief. “Really?”

“Well I--” Jaime stammered, taken aback by the attack being directed on him. “I did once, but not anymore,” he decided to be honest.

“When did you stop thinking she was ugly?” Bronn was suddenly interested in the discussion. “Was it when you decided to get that armour made for her? I’m sure you did observe her close enough to estimate her measurements.”

Jaime looked away, his face burning, remembering the day he had seen her naked. “I--I just made a wild guess,” he bluffed.

“A wild guess that turned out to be perfect,” Clegane remarked. “Now that happens quite often, doesn’t it?”

Before Jaime could answer, Bronn intervened. “Time to go.” Getting to his feet, he turned to his companions. “Since we’ve eaten, why not leave the lord and his lady to finish their supper in peace?”

“I’m not _his_ lady,” Brienne corrected him at once, glowering, but Bronn only grinned.

“Goodnight, my lady.” He gave her a short bow. “My lord,” he said, giving Jaime a meaningful smile. “Enjoy your supper and have a good sleep.”

“Ignore him,” Jaime pacified her once their annoying, pain in the ass companions were gone, though he hoped she’d spare a thought about what being _his_ lady might be like. “He often says things he doesn’t mean,” he lied, for Bronn was just the opposite, blunt and matter-of-fact, a man who never minced words no matter who it was he spoke to.

Brienne nodded, returning to her meal, which politely implied the end of the conversation. Jaime ate in silence, not wanting to intrude into her personal space, while at the same time craving for a heart-to-heart talk with her, something he’d been dying for all along his journey. Occasionally he stole a glance or two at her, desperate to gain an insight into her thoughts. While his hopes did rise when she blushed like any normal maiden at the mention of his name and all the teasing, he knew he had to delve deeper into her mind to know what was in her heart, to find out if he had a place in her life. If he could trust his instincts, there was something beneath the tough exterior she projected, a soft corner for him beyond the iron curtain she chose to put up, something that prevented him from breaching it and shielded her from anything remotely close to love.

When they had finished, Brienne got up to leave. Soon it would be bedtime, and though they would be sharing a room, and most likely a bed, with the tavern being nearly empty save the one or two men lurking around, this was the best time for a cozy conversation.

“Stay,” he insisted, hoping she’d oblige him. “Have a drink with me, wench.”

She looked uncertain. “It’s quite late.”

“It isn’t.” Jaime met her eyes. “Don’t you think we need to talk?”

She sighed, then sat down without further objection.

Jaime signalled to the lad at the counter. “A mug of ale each for us both,” he told the boy who arrived at their table. Once the tender had left, an awkward silence set in, leaving Jaime lacking his initial confidence to begin talking.

Thankfully Brienne did him that favour. “You’re alone,” she asked him at last. “Where’s the--”

“--army?” He shook his head. “There’s no army coming. Cersei betrayed us, she had no intention of sending the army she promised.”

“Then why’re you--” She stopped when the tender arrived, slapping two mugs in front of them.

“Why am I here?” Jaime finished her question once they were alone again. “I made a promise,” he said earnestly, “to fight for the living. I’m going to keep that promise.”

“What about your sister?”

“I tried my best to contain her thirst for power,” he said sadly, wishing Cersei had listened to him. “She’s beyond any reasoning now.”

“Didn’t that break your heart?” Her tone was neutral, with no hint of any emotion yet.

“It did,” he decided not to lie. “Her betrayal shattered me, but I’m going to put it behind me. I want to make a new beginning, a new life, a new purpose--” he paused, _with you,_ he wanted to say, but contained himself.

There was compassion in her eyes, and perhaps a hint of sympathy. “I’m sorry it had to end like that with your sister,” she said softly.

She’d been the only person who had always refrained from speaking ill of his relationship with his sister. Outside of his family, he had been ridiculed and shamed for that, by all except Brienne. Never once had she uttered a single word criticising him of his love for Cersei. Even during their trip across the Riverlands, she had taunted him for many things, but never for this.

The more his thoughts dwelled on her, the more he was beginning to see the truth that she was the one and not his sister.

_We don’t get to choose who we love. I didn’t then, nor did I this time--_

“We should be going, Ser Jaime.”

“Oh, stay for some more time, wench.” Keen to do anything to prevent her from leaving, he gestured to the tender for a refill of their drinks. The ale did him good, apart from making him feel warm and comfortable, it managed to loosen his tongue considerably.

“My sister almost commanded the Mountain to crush me to death,” he lamented, taking another sip. “The rage that she was in when I walked away, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sent him to look out for me, to kill, or worse still, capture me and take me back to her.”

A shadow of worry clouded her face, which was a good sign. “You’re now a traitor to the crown. Treason is punishable by death.”

She stared at her drink. “I heard about your tryst with the dragon,” she spoke again, this time sounding angry. “Are you always this reckless or is it just with animals?” she asked, her eyes shining. “First the bear and now--”

“No one cares whether I live or die,” he voiced the painful truth of his life. “No one except Bronn,” he added on second thoughts. “Until he gets his castle and a pretty wife.”

“It’s not just Bronn who’s concerned about you,” she said immediately.

He leaned across the table to gaze into those incredibly beautiful eyes. “Are _you_ worried about me, wench?”

She didn’t look away this time and set down her glass. “Ofcourse, I am.”

The alcohol in his blood provided him with some much-needed courage. “Why? What’s so special about me? Why do you bother about my wellbeing when no one else cares?”

“I--” It looked like she had something to say, but stopped. “I believe in your honour, Ser Jaime. Maybe no one else does, but I do. I’ve seen it myself. And we both know that you’ve saved me, more than once.”

Fearing another bout of disappointment, he went ahead with the question that bothered him. “Is that all, wench?”

Her cheeks now resembling the petals of a rose, she chose not to reply, but the answer he sought was evident in her eyes. Emboldened by a fresh surge of confidence aided only by the ale whose effect increased by the minute, he reached out to touch her hand that rested on the table, gently stroking her fingers.

“I should probably leave,” she breathed, though her hand was unmoved and in his custody, and her eyes still locked in an intense gaze with his.

Jaime didn’t bother taking his hand off. He was too busy staring at a drop of ale dribbling down her mouth, his mind racing away with sordid imaginations at the sight, every image in his mind’s eye making him grow hard, setting his heart hammering against his ribs. Cersei had never managed to get him all hot and bothered like this, he realized, frustrated with the way his body responded to the smallest, seemingly harmless things the wench did. The last time it happened in Harrenhal, he had convinced himself that his prolonged separation from Cersei was the reason for his torture. But today, that was not an excuse he could hide behind. He wanted Brienne, he ached for her, that day in the tub and now. He let his mind wander, farther than it had ever been before. What would it be like to suck the offensive liquid off her lips? He wanted to taste her, her lips, her tongue, her skin... all of her. He wanted to ravish her right here, on this table, his mouth on her nipples, his cock nestled deep inside her warm, moist--

“What is it?” She broke his thoughts, drawing her hand away, squirming under his piercing gaze. “Stop looking at me like that!”

Try as he might, he just couldn’t stop admiring her. It was quite late, the place empty but for the two of them and the bartender. Most of the candles around them had been put out, the one flickering on their table among the few that were still burning, illuminating her flushed face. Her brilliant eyes shone even brighter in the pale glow.

_In this light, she could almost be a beauty..._

He found his voice after some time. “There’s something on your--” he began, but yet again, the words had disappeared off his lips. Drawing a deep breath, he leaned across and cupped her cheek, his thumb straying to her lip, gently wiping the distracting liquid away. She didn’t pull away, her eyes burning into his, her lips parted slightly in response, her breathing short and restless. It took him tremendous self control to prevent himself from grabbing her face and kissing her senseless. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, for when he did it, he'd do it right, not just the kiss but--

“Still a maiden, I hope?” he found himself asking her without context nor reason.

She bit her lip, blushing to the roots of her hair.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate,” he murmured, regretting his indiscretion. Worried that he might be tempted to cross his limits, he dropped his hand abruptly, coming back to his senses.

Once he had calmed down, he decided to tell her what he’d been meaning to for days, something he owed her for long, an explanation for his behaviour when they had last met.

“I’m sorry for dismissing you the way I did, Brienne,” he said, closely watching her face for a reaction. “I had to do that because Cersei was watching, I feared for your life, and that was the only way I could put her off.” The load and guilt off his chest, he felt considerably lighter having confessed his true intentions to her.

“Why would your sister want to kill me?”

“Because she has a fair idea that I--” he licked his lips nervously “--that I care about you. I hope you’ll forgive me for all I said that day.”

“You chose us, that’s all that matters,” she said softly. “Let’s forget that conversation ever happened.”

He shook his head in disagreement, that meeting with her was the reason he was here tonight. “I wouldn’t forget it, wench, not even for a minute that _you_ told me to fuck loyalty. And there’s one other thing--” he had finally decided to tell her after days of deliberation “--Cersei’s pregnant. I--I thought you should know.”

If she was upset by this news, she didn’t show it. “Why tell me this?” was her only reaction. “It’s your life.”

_My life has been strangely intertwined with yours for years, my lady…_

“Who other than you can I confide in?” he admitted. “No one else matters to me as much as you do, Brienne.”

 _She’s the one,_ his heart told him again, pushing him towards her, to tell her, to accept the inevitable.

“Why did you leave her? Don’t you love her anymore?”

Jaime pondered her question. “I do love her, I will always love her,” he didn’t want to lie to her. Cersei was still his sister, his family, and there would always be a place for her in a corner of his heart, although, she wasn’t the love of his life anymore. Days of introspection had pretty much enlightened him on that front, his unexpected meeting with the wench only strengthening that feeling.

Brienne abruptly got up, shielding her eyes from him so that he couldn’t read her mind. “I must leave.”

He followed suit. “Brienne, wait--”

But she was gone. Momentarily bewildered by her impulsive exit, the second she had stormed away he realized his folly. _Fuck my stupid inability to say the right thing,_ he cursed himself.

“Tactful, aren’t you?” came a scathingly taunting voice from behind him.

“I thought it was ill-mannered to eavesdrop on someone’s private conversation,” Jaime returned the snark. “But I should’ve known, you never did care about petty things like this, did you?”

“If I were you, I’d run after her and tell her the truth,” Bronn advised. “I’d grab her by the waist, kiss her until her eyeballs popped out and fook her till she came apart--”

“Thanks, Bronn,” Jaime stopped him on time, unprepared to tread any further on dangerous waters. As such, his head was crowded with wicked thoughts of what he’d like to do to the wench, he didn’t want Bronn to add a few more fantasies to his wish-list. Leaving some coins on the table for their drinks, he left, resolving to follow the first half of Bronn’s suggestion. While he could hear the sellsword chuckle behind his back, he didn’t dare wait for a response.

Hurrying up the stairs, he rushed after Brienne, eager to clear the misunderstanding he had inadvertently caused.

He pushed the door open. “Listen, Brienne--”

“Stop right there!” cried out a panic-stricken voice from inside the room the instant he stepped in. “Don’t you dare come in!”

Her words simply bounced off him, for he was tongue-tied and rooted to the spot, blatantly gaping at the sight in front of him. Brienne was mid-way through changing her clothes when he had barged in, completely naked above the waist.

When she caught him staring, she coloured, grabbing her tunic in a frantic attempt to cover her breasts. “Look away--” she shrieked, holding the garment tightly against her bosom “--and get the hell out of here.”

But the damage was already done, the image now etched on to his mind, un-erasable and unforgettable. His brain just refused to comprehend her command, and he continued feasting his eyes on her. Noticing that there was no use telling him anything, she hurried across the room and slammed the door on his face.

“You should’ve locked the door,” he found an excuse, though glad she hadn’t thought of doing that.

A few minutes later, the door opened to the wench clad in a simple nightshirt and trousers. “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked,” he apologized, unable to keep his eyes off her. The blue of her shirt went well with her eyes and she looked all the more desirable. His eyes wandered around while his brain tried to find ways to resume a normal conversation with her. “You can have the bed,” he gallantly offered, for want of anything else to say. “I’ll sleep on the floor--”

“There’s no need for that,” she immediately objected, as stubborn as ever. “You can take half of it, I can manage with you by my side.”

“Oh, can you?” he teased, hoping to lighten the tension between them. “Would you be able to resist keeping your hands off me, my lady?”

But she wasn’t amused, nor did she seem to appreciate his jest. “Is everything a bloody joke to you? Won’t you ever tire of mocking me?”

“I wasn’t mocking at all, quite the opposite in fact.” He searched her eyes, finding hurt and disappointment in them. “You’re upset,” he observed, knowing quite well what had hurt her. 

“I’m not,” she denied. “I’m just tired.”

She turned away, but he caught her wrist. “I wasn’t done when you abandoned me downstairs, Brienne.”

She struggled against his grasp. “Was there anything else to it? That was pretty much the end of the subject.”

He let go of her hand. “About Cersei--” he sat down on the bed “--I do love her, but not in the way you think, not anymore.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked him again.

“Because my words have upset you.”

She neither confirmed nor refuted his claim. “Why are you here, Ser Jaime?”

“I made a promise, and I intend to keep it,” he repeated his purpose. “I’m here because _you_ drove me to it, to take the right decision yet again.”

His confession was met with silence.

“It’s quite late,” she said after a while, settling down on the opposite side of the bed. “We have a long journey tomorrow, it’s better we sleep now.”

_Do you really think I’d be able to sleep lying next to you?_

“Goodnight, wench,” he said reluctantly, reclining against his pillow. This was going to be a long and sleepless night.

Minutes went by, and all he did was stare alternately between the wall ahead of him and the ceiling, fighting his internal conflict, contemplating his next action. He had been in two minds when he had left home, but the more time he spent with the wench, the more he felt that home was where _she_ was. He tried to lie down, closing his eyes, surrendering himself to sleep, but it was no use, for that was a privilege he would have to forego tonight.

He took to gazing at the wench after a while, her serene face a welcome change from the monotonous walls. He’d gladly give his left hand to take her in his arms and keep her safe for the rest of her life. Unable to resist an impulsive urge, he moved closer to her, his lips drawn to hers like a parched soul towards water. He would’ve kissed her, and maybe even taken things further but for a small voice inside his head.

_Not like this, not before I’ve told her that I love her, that all I want is a life with her!_

Listening to his inner voice of reason, he controlled himself, planting a tender kiss on her cheek instead. When she stirred at his touch, smiling in response, he was filled by a warmth and a sense of contentment, an emotion that was foreign to him, yet at the same time welcome, making him feel that life without her would be incomplete.

He slid his hand in hers, and when she grasped his in her sleep, he knew he could spend the rest of his life like this, every day and every night, holding her hand, drowning in her eyes. He stayed like that until sleep had finally stopped eluding him, the last vision in his mind a mental image of him locking lips with her.

+++++

_“Mother,” Joanna tugged at Brienne’s arm, pulling her away from what she was doing._

_“Just a few more minutes, sweetling,” the wench pacified their daughter, returning to focus on her training with their son._

_Distracted, Jaime stopped staring at his wife and turned to his little girl. “Come here, my dear,” he called to the child, gently ushering her away from there._

_His daughter safely out of the way and in his arms, Jaime resumed gazing at his wife. This was his family, his wife, his handsome son, a beautiful daughter, people he could call his own… Years back, he’d never thought he could have a life, until he met the wench, until she showed him what love actually meant._

_“What’re you thinking?” She was by his side, tired, her face flushed with the exercise._

_Cupping her face, he kissed her softly. “Reminding myself how lucky I am.”_

“Wake up!” shouted a voice in his ear.

“In a minute, dear,” he moaned, grasping the warm hand that jerked him awake.

“Get up,” she repeated, this time much louder and directly in his ear. “And let go of my hand.”

Something was wrong, that didn’t sound like his loving wife. While the voice belonged to Brienne, the tone was off. When he opened his eyes, he remembered where he was, in an inn and not in a Keep in Tarth. The wench was not his wife. _Not yet._

She jerked her hand away. “Were you talking to me in your sleep?”

He nodded, deciding to be truthful, anxious about what he had spoken in his sleep. “I dreamed of you,” he admitted.

The wench blinked wildly, opened her mouth to say something, but then kept quiet. “The others are waiting,” she whispered, before hurrying away.

+++++

Days rolled by, their journey going on smoothly. The destination was nearing and if his estimate was correct, they’d be reaching Winterfell in two, at the most there days, even taking into account unforeseen delays. Winter had arrived, the nights growing colder as they moved further North. With nothing but his Southern clothes to sustain him, Jaime at times feared that he might freeze to death even before he faced the Starks.

That was lesser of a problem, though, for his dreams about the wench were now recurring, and frequent over the last few days. Was that an indication for his future or a reflection of his current frame of mind? Even in the dream, despite them both being severely imperfect people, life together appeared to be perfect. They just… fit together, like they were made for each other, two people who’d been through a rough life for vastly different reasons coming together to find comfort in one another. He had dreamed of a life with Cersei in the past, but never before was his wish, his ache for her as intense as his longing for Brienne. The wench had touched his soul like no one else had, not even his sister.

“It’d be nice if you stopped pining for her and acted on your feelings for a change.” Bronn was by his side as usual, trying to counsel him. “You look lost and happy. That's a strange combination,” he guessed correctly. “Unless you've been dreaming about her.”

“Almost every night,” Jaime confessed, sighing deeply.

“What did you dream of?”

“A life with her,” he began describing, his mind miles away. “A quiet life in Tarth. Everything I could hope for.”

“In the arms of the woman you love?”

Jaime was silent. They were heading towards war, whether he’d be spared with such a fate was unknown. He didn’t even know if he was allowed to hope and dream.

“What’re you waiting for?” Bronn sounded pushy. “The gods are writing your fate, and your dream is a hint for you to follow your heart.”

“I’ve never really believed in the gods,” Jaime said, worried that if he acted on his feelings, things might go awry.

 _That the wench has permanently replaced Cersei in my heart is undeniable,_ he thought, confident of one thing atleast, _but will I be able to live up to my dreams? Without my hand, I’m a nobody, will I be able to give her the life she deserves?_

“Whether you believe in them or not doesn’t matter to the gods,” quipped Bronn. “That won’t stop them deciding your destiny, and the path ahead seems to be obvious for you, my friend.” Bronn raced ahead, leaving him several feet behind, lost in his confusion.

 _She’s the one,_ nudged the little voice in his head again, pushing him towards her bit by bit.

“Ser Jaime, what’s wrong?” Brienne was by his side, her eyes full of concern.

“Tell me something, my lady.” Ignoring her question, he broached the subject he’d been dreading to approach her with all these days. “Is your loyalty to the Starks so important that you’d give up your life completely in favour of it?”

Her face fell. “I have no life.”

“You do,” he reminded her. “You’re the lady and heir of a noble house. You have duties towards your father and your people.”

“You mean marry and--”

“Yes.”

She blanched at the suggestion. “No man in his right senses would want to marry me.”

“Not all men think alike, wench,” he threw her a hint. “There could be someone who loves you, someone who can’t imagine life without you, someone who’d want a life with you.”

A faint hue of colour graced her cheeks, and there came a smile on her lips, only to vanish a second later.

“We should be on our way.” Thus evading his question, she raced ahead. When she had gone a few feet, she turned around.

Their eyes met for a brief second. Her blush deepening, she turned away once again.

Smiling to himself Jaime followed her with renewed vigour. Unless he was sorely mistaken, she did have feelings for him.

 _Maybe it’s time to tell her,_ he thought, glancing at her when he rode past her.

For the reminder of their journey, he rode by himself with the wench now lagging behind, busy talking to her squire and polishing his riding skills. When dusk set in, they chose a campsite and prepared to stop for the night. As Jaime was tethering his horse to a tree, Bronn and Clegane caught up with him.

“You love her, Lannister,” the Hound grunted. “Do something before we get to Winterfell, or you might end up losing her to someone else.”

Hearing this, Jaime’s senses were on an immediate alert. “Who?”

“A red-headed wildling up North who competes with you for her affections--” Clegane paused, waiting for a reaction “--a hot-blooded man who wants to fuck her and make giant babies with her.”

Jaime fought to keep his wits. “He doesn’t sound like her type.”

“Aye, he doesn’t,” Bronn chipped in supportively. While his intervention usually meant a danger signal, this time Jaime was relieved to get some reassurance. “Don’t worry Lannister, she only wants to fook you, but as he says, do something quickly. There’s a good chance you have,” he suggested, his eyes on Brienne. “Why don’t you be her knight in shining armour and give her a hand to help her off her mount?”

Jaime burst out laughing. “She’s a far better knight than me. If I try a thing like that, she’d only resent me even more for doubting her abilities.”

Bronn’s confidence was unshaken and his smile smug. “She’s a _lady_ ,” he said, stressing on the word. “Women like it when men shower them with attention and show them a bit of chivalry. Being a knight, you ought to know that better than anyone else.”

“She’s no ordinary woman,” Jaime gushed, his heart bursting with pride for his wench. “She’s--”

“We know who she is. Regardless, give it a try,” Bronn urged him.

For what it was worth, Jaime strode towards her. “Why don’t I help you?” He held out his hand as she was about to get down.

Brienne gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t need your hand.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I’d still consider it an honour if you accept it.”

“Go on, my lady.” Bronn was once again by his side, making Jaime wish he wouldn’t say anything inappropriate. “It’s not as if he’s offering you his hand in marriage.” Having shot the arrow right on target, he made himself scarce, leaving them both glancing around awkwardly.

Jaime was the first to find his tongue. “Plan to spend the night on your horse, wench?”

Trying her best to hide her discomfort, Brienne did take his hand eventually. When she got off, their eyes met again for another priceless moment.

“We should go,” she whispered, pulling her hand away.

Soon they had set up camp and had settled down to eat in the open by a fire. Lost in his own world, Jaime ate in silence, unaware of the laughing and joking around him, clueless about what his friends were up to.

 _She’s the one,_ was the only thing ringing in his head, pestering him, urging him, convincing him...

“Have a good sleep, then.” Bronn got up, suppressing a yawn. He made for one of the tents with Podrick and Clegane close on his heels.

Brienne was the next to get up. “I’ll be back soon.” Without waiting for his response, she hurried away.

Her sudden departure took Jaime by surprise. “What--” he was about to ask her, but she was gone, disappeared in the darkness, into the wilderness.

Deciding to wait for her, he began pacing the site, filled with a huge dilemma. _Should I speak to her tonight, or should I wait?_

Minutes passed, but the wench wasn’t back yet, and Jaime was beginning to get worried about her safety. A great fighter, she could certainly defend herself, but who was to say what prowled the forests at night? Worry soon turned into agitation, and agitation into desperation that was beginning to almost kill him.

As more time elapsed with no sign of her, Jaime could stand it no more. Tempted to go looking for her, he was about to head in the direction she had gone, when he saw her emerge from a clump of bushes. Relief washing over him, he wanted to run to her and smother her with an embrace, but his joy on seeing her soon turned into anger.

“Why did you wander off like that?” he barked when she was within earshot.

“I didn’t wander--” she hesitated, looking embarrassed “--I had to make water, so I went in search of a suitable place.”

Mollified by her explanation, he almost calmed down but his anger was back when he caught sight of a tear in her sleeve. Only then did he notice that her hand was covered in blood. Flooded with panic, he grabbed her arm. “What’s this?” he demanded, enraged. “Who did this?”

“It’s nothing.” She pulled away. “A beast--a wolf attacked me, I managed to slay it, but before that, it--”

“This is what happens when you wander away at night!” he shouted, his voice quivering. “You could’ve been killed.”

“It was just a wolf,” she said placatingly. “I can take care of myself.”

Jaime was unconvinced. “It could’ve been anything - beasts, murderers, rapists.” He couldn’t bear to see her like this. “Promise me you wouldn’t go anywhere alone.”

She looked bemused. “I can take care of myself.” Her brows knit in a frown, she studied him carefully. “You look pale, Ser Jaime, what’s the matter with you? Why are you so worried about me?”

“Because--” he sighed, the truth finally clear in his mind with no room for any further doubt “--because I can't stand it if anything untoward happened to you.”

She stood there speechless for many long moments. “Good night, Ser Jaime,” was all she said. After a long lingering look at him, she left for her tent.

Jaime stayed there long after she was gone. For the first time in days, he was hit by an obvious realization that they were humans, after all. She could die, and so could he, maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or maybe a year later. They were heading towards an uncertain future. With the war looming large, no one knew who’d perish and who’d survive.

There was one thing he did know, something he was _certain_ of now - his feelings for Brienne. He loved her, desperately and unbearably, so much that he couldn’t stand the thought of an existence without her. While it might be an unfortunate possibility given their uncertain future, he wouldn't let anything stop him from living his life today...

_With her, for her, in her arms…_

He might end up wasting days deliberating whether he’d do justice to a life with her, instead, why not try it out? While Cersei would always remain in his heart, it was Brienne he loved and wanted, and if he had gauged her correctly, she wanted him too.

 _She’s the one,_ he told himself firmly, _and I’m going to tell her now…_

At peace with himself for the first time in days, he hurried towards her tent.

 


	3. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title goes, confession ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing the rating to E

His heart at his throat and his palm damp with sweat despite the freezing winter wind, Jaime stood outside Brienne’s tent, thinking.

 _This is it, there’s no more looking back, no second thoughts,_ his inner voice encouraged him, _she’s the one._

He entered without seeking her consent, whether she wanted to see him or not, he was determined to speak to her tonight. Seated in a corner with her bedroll spread open and her sleeve completely ripped apart, she was nursing her wound.

“Jaime,” she said softly, springing to her feet.

 _Jaime,_ he noted, not _Ser Jaime,_ his hopes rising after the initial unavoidable bout of nervousness. He approached her, and as his eyes fell on her arm, the jittery feeling he’d been experiencing in anticipation of their conversation was instantly replaced by a wave of concern. If her injury festered, where would they find a maester in the middle of nowhere?

“Let me see how bad it is.” He reached out for her hand, but she recoiled, taking a step backwards.

“I’m fine.” She made a futile effort to sound unconcerned, but as usual her face giving her away, she failed miserably, unable to mask her true feelings. Her quivering voice, the wobbling chin and the moist, shining eyes - that was all he needed to tell him that she was in the same emotional state as him. “It’s just a minor scratch,” she said dismissively.

“Show me,” he insisted, irritated with her stubborn refusal to accept help. Gingerly holding up her hand, he examined the wound, only to discover that it was no _minor scratch_ by any standards. Letting go of her hand, he took the damp cloth she held. “Hold still,” he instructed, as he began wiping her hand clean of the dried blood.

“There’s no need for all this,” she protested. “I can manage for a day or two. As soon as we get to Winterfell, I’ll have a maester take a look at it.”

Paying no heed to her objection, Jaime continued cleaning her wound. Yes, they would soon reach their destination, an unknown future that lay before them, leaving them with no better time than the present to address the matter he so desperately wished to broach. “When we get to Winterfell--” he looked up at her “--where do _we_ stand, wench?”

She remained unfazed, her feelings hidden behind a steady gaze, but he could read a hint of unrest in those gorgeously expressive eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean--” he explained, agitation threatening to overpower him again, uncovering the storm under the calm demeanour he tried to sustain “--about _us_ , you and me, about how we feel about each other.”

She flicked her tongue across her lips, a definite sign of nervousness. “I care for you--”

“Oh, we’ve had enough of the care and respect, wench,” he cried out, voicing his frustration. “We both know quite well what there is between us, and it is far beyond care or respect or anything else we may choose to conceal our true feelings with.”

“I don’t think we should get into that.” She carefully avoided his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the discussion was heading in. “For our own good, for our priorities--”

“Our priorities for a change are the same, Brienne,” he pointed out, unwilling to take that as an excuse. “We’re on the same side of the battle now, on the same side of life.”

When she looked up at him, he could see the turmoil behind the veil of composure. “You don’t understand,” she protested, her voice choked. “I made a vow to Lady Catelyn, to protect her daughters--”

“--and you’ve fulfilled your promise quite efficiently. Lady Stark would be proud of you, and so am I,” he said with utmost sincerity. “But now that the girls are back to their brother, they don’t need your protection anymore, my lady.”

Brienne still refused to concede, her honour and fierce sense of loyalty as usual taking precedence over her heart. “I’ve pledged myself to Lady Sansa.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t marry or have a life of your own, wench,” Jaime tried to make her see reason. “You have a duty towards your father, your people--”

“You still don’t get my point.” Shaking her head, she shook her hand free of his grasp. Turning away from him, she retreated to the other end of the tent, her back to him, unwilling to look him in the eye. Undeterred by her reluctance to hear him out, Jaime followed her. Mustering the courage to make a move, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. While she did shiver at his touch, she didn’t shrug him off. Her far-from-adverse reaction filling him with hope, he wrapped his stump around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Why don’t we accept the obvious and rid ourselves of this torture, my lady?” he breathed into her back. His hand was on her collarbone, his fingers playing with her shirt, creeping up her neck where he could feel her bare skin.

The moment he touched her, he felt her shudder against him. “There’s nothing to accept,” she continued to deny, though making no effort to get away from him.

Jaime’s patience now exhausted, he decided to have no more of it. “If you had no feelings for me, you’d have pushed me away, maybe even knocked me to the ground… but you didn’t,” he confronted her, glad she hadn’t responded negatively. “Despite your denial, you’re still in my arms.”

As soon as he said this, she made an attempt to get away, but he drew her back in.

“You shiver every time my fingers brush against your skin. The mighty warrior in you magically transforms into a shy maiden every time I look at you,” he went on, his voice unusually hoarse. “When I’m around, you start acting like a lady while vehemently claiming that you aren’t one. You blush at the very mention of my name.” He paused to kiss the nape of her neck. “You wouldn’t have called me _Jaime_ if you didn’t… All of this - what else could it be, if not love?”

He stopped talking, taking in her heavy breathing, the only sound that enveloped him in the deathly silence of the night.

“Every time we’ve bid each other goodbye, I’ve seen the tears in your eyes, unshed though they may have been, hidden behind the unbreakable wall you’ve built around yourself, letting no one in, confining your desires within.” He recalled the intense look in those blue eyes when she had departed from King’s Landing, eyes that had cried out to him, expressing her distress at their inability to be together.

While she said nothing, he could feel her relax against him. “Break down the wall and let me in, my lady,” he said softly. “You smiled when I mentioned marriage and the possibility of a future with the man who is desperately and madly in love with you. I know you love me, Brienne, I’ve seen it in your eyes,” he insisted, hoping she wouldn’t refute his claim.

Though his words were still met with silence, her hand found his, grasping his fingers, her gesture as far from a denial as could be. “I love you,” he told her, whispering the words in her ear. “I should’ve told you this long back.” He nuzzled her neck, her skin reddening when his stubble rubbed against it. “The day I gave you my sword, I gave you my heart, but the only thing I couldn’t give you then was _myself_.”

He could feel her tension ebbing away when she finally melted into his chest. “But I can’t,” she lamented. “My life isn’t my own anymore.”

“No one but you gets to decide what you want, wench,” he said, fiddling with the laces of her shirt, enjoying the mild tremors that shook her body every time he touched her skin. “Fuck loyalty - it was you who told me that, wasn’t it? While I wouldn’t ask you to give up your duty, you do have a right to happiness.”

Her grip on his hand tightened and she leaned closer into him.

“Deep down, you’re like any other woman. You crave for a husband, a family, a life of your own, back in Tarth with your people. Your shy smile said it all.” He sighed, recollecting his dream. “I keep dreaming about it, my lady, about you, our unborn children… so much that I just can’t get you out of my head.”

Brienne finally turned to face him. “I do,” she admitted at last, her chin wobbling and her eyes shining with perhaps the same visions he’d been dreaming of. “I do love you, Jaime, I always did, and I always will. I’d even go ahead and live my life with you, but--” a shadow of doubt crept into her face, diminishing the shine in her eyes “--Cersei--”

There was only one way he could put her question to rest. Leaning closer, he kissed her, tenderly at first, his lips barely on hers, doubtful about how she might react. What came next, however, was something he’d scarcely expected. Her arms went around his neck, her eyes fluttered shut and her lips pressed hard against his as she began kissing him with abandon. Her aggression left him slightly shocked and largely surprised, but he wasted no time in reciprocating her passion.

He sucked her lips, his tongue worming its way into her mouth, tasting her, feeling her, claiming her. No Renly nor any wildling could ever come close, for she was _his,_ and his alone. He pulled her closer, his hand wandering down her back, squeezing her waist, moving further down to her ass and groping her. Her fingers ruffling his hair, she pushed into him, moaning in delight when his erect length brushed against her thighs. The sound of her arousal awakened the passion that had been simmering inside him for years, threatening to blow him to pieces as he continued his assault on her mouth, pushing, nipping, biting with no restraint nor inhibitions to hold him back.

He broke the kiss when he realized that he’d bitten her lip so hard that he could taste her blood. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I--I got carried away,” he said, breathing heavily, the sight of her swollen bloody lip leaving him rock hard and craving for a more than a kiss.

“Are you sorry for being the only man to have ever kissed me?” she asked, her voice thick with arousal. The want and hunger in her eyes was unmistakable, and that was good enough for Jaime.

“Bronn advised me to kiss you until your eyeballs popped out,” he whispered, his cock responding adequately when he pictured what he wanted to do to her next.

“What else did Bronn suggest that you do to me?” she asked coyly, her gaze teasing him, tempting him to do a lot more than just kiss her.

“I’d rather show than tell you,” he said seductively, wishing nothing more than to make her feel like a woman tonight.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she invited, her tone enticing.

He came very close to shoving her on the floor and fucking her hard until she screamed his name, but once the heady after-effect of their fiery kiss had died down, he drew away, sense prevailing over impulse. His heart sank at the thought of what he had decided to tell her, but he had to do the right thing.

“You’re a maiden, Brienne,” he said. “I don’t want to dishonour you, not before I wed you.”

She kissed his lips. “You saved me from Locke,” she reminded him. “If I’m a maiden today, it’s only thanks to you. How could a night with you be even remotely close to dishonourable?”

“I want to marry you first, my lady,” he expressed his wish. “Once we get to Winterfell--”

“--we can wed once we get to Winterfell, but what if anything happens to either of us before our union? There can be no regrets anymore, not after what just happened between us.” She tongued the mark he had left on her lip. “I can’t stand it either if anything untoward happened to you, Jaime. We’re riding into a war, I couldn’t live with myself if either of us perished before we--” her voice broke and she couldn’t speak further.

He kissed away her fear. “Is this what you want?” He wanted to be absolutely sure.

“Losing my maidenhood to _you_ has been something I’ve been dreaming of since the day I left King’s Landing, my lord,” she confessed shyly. “The only thing is--” she trailed away, apprehension clouding her astonishing eyes.

“What?” He had to know what was troubling her.

“I--I’m ugly, and you’re just the opposite.” She looked downcast. “I fear I might not meet your expectations.”

Jaime smiled, touched by her innocence and simplicity. “You share my fear then, my lady,” he said, taking her in his arms again. “I’ve been with no woman but Cersei, and with you--” he searched for words to tell her how he felt “--with you, it would be a completely new experience. I’ve been thinking if I’d be able to live up to your fantasies.”

He tilted her face upwards to meet her eyes. “I’m ready for a new beginning, so why don’t we just give ourselves to each other and find out what happens next?”

Taking her smile as her consent to go ahead, he undid her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. Allowing himself a good look at her firm breasts, he decided to give in to his wildest desires. Elated that she’d been dreaming of this with him, he thought it fair to fulfil her dreams, to give himself to her, leaving no stone unturned to pleasure her. Seeking her lips once more, he kissed her hard as they both sank to their knees, his hand creeping up her chest. While she hastily undressed him, he grabbed her breast, caressing it as he pushed her down, pinning her to the bed and flinging himself on her.

His shirt already on the floor, she pulled down his breeches, freeing his achingly erect cock. She stroked his length, her fingers playing with his balls, gentle to begin with and then hard and fast, making him so receptive to her that he feared he might explode in her hands. Unwilling to let that happen, he jerked himself free of her grasp. “That’s not how your first time unfolds, wench,” he growled. Pushing her trousers down with more force than necessary, he shoved his hand between her thighs, her fingers sinking deep into her until she trembled violently.

“Gods, that wasn’t what I expected,” she gasped, grabbing the sheets as his fingers plundered her cunt. “I feel like I-- I’m going to--” the words never left her lips as he increased the pace of his thrusts, making her scream out his name in desperation.

“--come undone?” he suggested. “I told you years back, remember? You’d love to know what it feels like to be a woman.”

Determined to torment her beyond her imagination, he let go of her cunt before she could come, leaving her wet enough to take him. While his fingers returned to playing with her breast, his lips were busy showering her with a trail of kisses, tracing a path from her mouth, down her neck and all the way to her chest. His mouth claiming her unattended breast, he tugged at her nipple until it was hard as a pebble, making her squirm in pleasure. She clutched his arm in a death grip, her other hand riding down his back as she held on to him for dear life, her loud throaty cry heightening his arousal so much that he could take it no more.

His mouth crushing hers again, she twitched when his cock pushed against her thighs, desperate to seek entrance, aching for a release. “I am yours, wench,” he growled, thrusting into her. “I will always be yours.”

For a moment, there was no reaction from her. Had he hurt her? Trying to be as gentle as possible, he shifted his hips, wanting to make her comfortable.

She moved her ass, adjusting to him, positioning herself so that he could delve deeper. “Oh, gods,” she whimpered when he slid further in, her fingers digging into his back for support.

He sank into her, burying himself to the hilt. He fucked her mouth with his tongue, his hand groping, stroking and pinching her breast, torturing her into oblivion. He pulled out and then rammed into her again, his moves gradually increasing in pace and intensity. She didn’t take long to adjust to his rhythm, and soon they were on their way to becoming one in every possible way.

“Jaime, I--” She sighed into his mouth as he continued pounding into her. A few thrusts later, she found her release. “I love you, Jaime,” she cried out before exploding in his arms.

It didn’t take him long to finish either. “Fuck!” he cursed loudly as he dissolved into pleasure, filling her with his seed. He collapsed into her arms, his cock going limp inside her.

“I love you, Brienne,” he breathed, kissing her forehead. When he pulled out of her, his cock was covered in blood. “I hope I haven’t hurt you.” He rolled off her, anxious that he’d probably caused her pain.

“Far from it,” she said with a satisfied sigh, turning to face him. “You said something a while ago, when we were--” she blushed, unable to describe what she had been through. “Was it in the heat of the moment, or did you actually--”

He didn’t allow her to finish. “I meant it,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “I am yours, I will always be yours, from this day until the end of my days.”

“Let’s not talk about the end of our days,” she gently scolded him, stroking the hair on his chest.

“Very well, if it displeases my lady, I won’t.” Now was the time to do something he’d been meaning to for long. “I know you want me, wench, but it’s only right that I ask you properly.” He took her hand in his. “What would you say if I offered you my hand in marriage? A life with me may not be the life you’d dreamed of as a girl, for I am far from perfect, far from the prince that maidens dream of. My life so far has been tainted and my future uncertain, but if there’s one thing I can assure you of, it is my love for you.”

“Renly was the prince I desired as a girl,” she replied, smiling. “He was merely _a_ prince, but you’re _my_ prince, the love of my life. What would be a better life than one with you?”

“Cersei will always have a place in my heart,” he said truthfully, wanting to conceal nothing from the woman who’d soon be his wife. “I love her, but _you_ are the love of my life, and you always will be. No one can take your place, not even my sister.” He hoped this would put her fears to rest. “Take my word and my hand if you trust me.”

“I trust you more than myself,” she admitted, bringing his hand to her lips as tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.

+++++

_Ten years later…_

 

“Mother,” Joanna tugged at Brienne’s arm, pulling her away from what she was doing.

“Just a few more minutes, my sweetling,” Brienne pacified their daughter, returning to her training with their son.

Distracted by the interference, Jaime stopped staring at his wife in admiration and turned to his little girl. “Come here, my dear,” he called to the child, gently ushering her away from there.

His daughter safely out of their way and in his arms, Jaime resumed gazing at his wife, lost in memories, only now realizing that dreams did indeed come true.

“What’re you thinking?” Brienne was by his side, tired, her face flushed with the exercise.

Cupping her face, he kissed her softly. “I was just reminding myself about how lucky I’ve been. Is this a dream?” he wondered aloud, hoping he wouldn’t wake up to a grim reality.

“Yes,” she said, linking her arm in his. “A dream which the gods have been kind enough to bless us with. I wonder what we’ve done to have pleased them enough to be granted this reality.”

Jaime couldn’t believe his good fortune either. “I never thought two imperfect people could make a perfect life together, wench,” he said fondly, looking at his children playing.

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Jaime. What matters eventually is a perfect life, isn’t it? We have two perfect children, and while we may be grossly imperfect--” she looked up at him “--we’re perfect for each other, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he agreed, capturing her lips, wishing he could spend the rest of his life just the way it was today - by her side, in her arms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and do let me know if you liked it!


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